Captain Kirkland's Sacrifice
by SailorCheesy
Summary: A young America is kidnapped by a pirate called Spain, and England needs to save him! One-shot! Pirate!England and Colony!America! I do not own Hetalia! T because I can.


England's emerald green eyes widen in horror. The Spanish conquistador towers over him, one boot pressed onto the Brit's chest, and a gun pointed at his head. He reaches feebly for his sword, but Spain kicks it away, laughing.

People all around them are falling, fighting, bleeding crying, hiding, jumping off the ship into the icy waters below... But where was America? England couldn't see the bob of shiny, silky, bloody beautiful sandy blonde hair anywhere, and he was starting to get worried. He had told the lad to stay in his cabin, but when did he ever listen? He could be on the deck, out of England's line of sight, screaming and crying as he was thrown overboard... Or someone could be stealing his precious first kiss... Or he could be kidnapped by one of Spain's awful followers, who all seemed intent on taking America for themselves...

But, really, who could blame them for wanting such a glorious boy for themselves? England had wanted the boy, and he had gotten him. As the boy become older, though, it was painfully obvious he would grow up to be desired by all; even the pirate king himself, Captain Arthur Kirkland, had fallen prey to the young man. Sad, really, how one person could make almost every nation come from every inch of the globe, just itching to get a piece of him for themselves.

This worried England to no end, because he was one of those people. He had, much to his dismay, been filled with the absolutely overwhelming desire to make the young boy his, and only his, forever. He would go to any measure to keep the young nation with him, to make sure that no other nation could ever come in between the two of them. The pirate worried about himself, too, for this very reason.

What would become of him if the urge to leave his way of life behind in favor of staying in London with Alfred became too great? What would people think if they knew the once fearless Captain Arthur Kirkland had been brought to his knees by a boy of no more than seventeen years of age? How would they react, knowing he had betrayed his adventurous, danger-filled life to be with a boy much too pure for him in the first place?

Yet, he could barely keep himself from running into Alfred's open arms every time he arrived at port in London. Hell, he couldn't even stop himself yesterday when he had come back. (America had been standing there, tall and excited, at least three inches more in height than the last time England had seen him.) He had called out _"Arthur!"_ in his lovely, joyous voice, and England just... Couldn't help himself. He had called the young lad's name back, and, not caring who was watching, ran forward and thrown himself into the golden-haired boy's had held the young man, who was somehow was taller than him, in his arms, feeling happy and excited to be home, and to see that glorious face smiling so brightly at him.

America was like a drug. The more England got, the more he wanted.

"Give him to me, England, and I will consider letting you live." the Spaniard says, his Spanish accent curling around the words in a horribly unpleasant way before he spits them out to the English man.

"_Never_." England growls, "You'll never even touch him."

"I'll kill you and take him anyway, then." Spain smiles, his green eyes glittering in excitement.

"ENGLAND!" Someone screams, and the next second, Spain is slamming into the wooden deck of the ship, an America of about seventeen years on top of him. The young nation quickly grabs Spain's gun and throws it into the ocean. England can't help but admire the boy's courage. Still, though, there was more important things to think about.

Like America's safety.

"America?!" England says incredulously, reaching out to the blonde, trying to get him as far away from the Spanish man as fast possible.

He fails, as Spain quickly flips the two of them over, pinning America underneath him, a rakish grin on his face, which reveals many golden teeth. "Looks like I will not have to search for you after all," He says, clucking his tongue, "Look at all the trouble you have caused, America... It's because of you this fight is going on."

England frowns. It may be true, but it wasn't America's fault he was so sweet, and handsome, and nice, and had a voice like tinkling bells, and had blue eyes as deep as the sea, and had rich and fertile land, and a bright grin, and perfect lightly tanned skin, and golden hair with that one little piece sticking out, and was always so excited and energetic and... Enough of this. The list could go on forever.

America growls, twisting and kicking to no avail. "Lemme go!" He says, trying desperately to wriggle his wrists out of the Spaniard's grasp.

England, full of rage, grabs his sword. _How dare he touch America?! _He's about to slice the Spanish man clean in half when something large and heavy slams into the top of his head. The last thing he hears is America screaming his name before he blacks out.

* * *

Spain smiles, holding the angry teenager off the ground by his jacket collar. "Ah, mi dulce, be still." He says, pulling the blonde man into a small cabin and throwing him onto the bed. Once again, he pins the struggling American down, this time with slightly more difficulty.

"_You're mine now_." He whispers in the American's ear, making the teenager tremble.

"I'll never be yours!" America says, kicking the Spaniard in the leg. Hard.

Spain grins that horrible grin, the one he had been wearing when he had been this close to killing America's precious guardian, and America's blood runs cold, his bright blue eyes wide in fear. He desperately tries to think of a way for escape.

"Ah, but you already are." Spain muses, "I think Roma will like you... You seem very angry, like him. It will be quite a challenge to tame you, though..."

America frowns. Spain will not, under any circumstances, be taming him. He can recall what England had told him once, after a young man had tried to... Sack him. _"Don't ever, and I stress the word ever, let anyone, and I stress the word anyone, take your innocence away from you. Do you understand?" _When America had simply shrugged, England had gripped his shoulders hard, staring into his eyes with such an intensity his emerald orbs seemed to be ignited in green flames. _"Alfred. This is serious. Don't ever, ever, _ever _let someone even come close to doing that, unless you care for them greatly. This is something I cannot say enough—I do not want you to end up heartbroken." _As England had been talking, he had noticed how much closer he had gotten to the American—so close he could see the sunlight from outside the window glinting on America's hair, giving the illusion it was made of pure gold. His blue eyes had been so deep, so bright, as they always were, that England had been almost hypnotized, staring into them. He wanted nothing more than to keep this precious boy all to himself for the rest of his life. And, of course, he was close enough for his nostrils to catch the overwhelming scent of vanilla that always seemed to follow the American around. England almost forgot what he had been saying, instead his thoughts occupied by the wonderful idea to seize the younger nation, take him to his room, pin him down and... No. No, he was trying to _prevent _that. And so, America had sincerely promised he would never let anyone touch him like that unless he greatly cared for them, giving England the strange emotion that was a mix between relief and disappointment. Because America would never care about him in _that_ way.

But, one thing was for sure, America did not greatly care for the brunette on top of him at all.

"Toni!" A man with white hair and glowing red eyes suddenly calls, barging into the cabin and saving Alfred from breaking the promise of not loosing his 'innocence' to someone whom he did not care about.

Spain angrily turns to face him. _"What, _Gilbert? Can you not see I was about to take mi dolce here on a ride?"

"We've received word that England is already heading towards us, and he's using magic to get here quicker." The man called Gilbert says, grinning at the sight of the terrified American.

"_Maldición."_ Spain growls, climbing off of the American. "Guard him. Someone will tell you if England is here. And if he somehow manages to overtake us, grab our prisoner and threaten to throw him overboard." He says, then walks out of the cabin, sending a wink Alfred's way over his shoulder as he shut the wooden door to the room.

Gilbert sits on the edge of the bed, a giant grin on his face. "How is it that such a young boy as yourself has gained the favor of almost every nation in the world, without anyone having ever seen you?"

Alfred simply glares in return, folding his arms over his chest. "England's gonna gut you all alive," he finally says, "and then hang your skin for the pelicans to eat."

Gilbert laughs loudly, filling the entire cabin. When he sobers, he looks back at the American. "You know... I think you may have gained my favor just now, too." He moves a little closer, and America scoots back. "Such wondrous eyes... As deep and blue as the sea..."

"Stay away from me!" America growls, kicking Gilbert in the chin with such force that the Prussian falls backwards off the bed.

"You little _brat!" _Gilbert yells venomously, charging forward, he grabs the frightened American by the collar and whips around, slamming the boy into the wooden floor and driving the heel of his boot into the teenager's stomach.

America gasps, his hands flying to his mouth, he desperately sucks in air, his breathing fast. Gilbert laughs slightly and picks him up again, and throws him. America slams into a wall. He can feel blood running down his head from the back, and stars are appearing in his vision. He can hear screaming from outside, and the clatter of two swords banging against one another. He slides to the floor, clutching his stomach, his eyes stinging with tears.

_Don't cry, _he tells himself, _be strong for England._

"I hope that will teach you some manners." Prussia says, kneeling in front of the American, a malicious playing on his lips.

America spits on his face.

"Why you little—"

For the second time in twenty minutes, the door swings open, this time revealing a man with wavy, shoulder length blonde hair and blue eyes, though lighter than Alfred's, and in England's opinion, quite dull compared to America's, was standing in the doorway wearing a small smile. _What's up with everyone, smiling at my pain, anyway? If they really wanted me they should have just became my friend... Damn them all to hell. Especially Spain and Gilbert. _America thinks angrily.

"Angleterre has arrived." France says, a wicked smile coming to his face.

"Looks like it's time to hang you overboard!" Gilbert says in a sing-song voice.

"Ah, and Spain has told me it would be best to hold him by his collar—that will leave him most defenseless."

America backs himself into a corner weakly, kicking at both Prussia and France as they advance on him. They quickly seize him, and Gilbert drags him up to the bow of the ship, watching with an amused expression as England's crew floods onto the ship. England was already locked in combat with Spain, their swords clanging against one another, their jackets rippling in the wind, both an expression of utmost dislike on their handsome faces.

Gilbert smiles, holding him over the edge of the boat, his feet placed conveniently under a loose floorboard so that he doesn't fly overboard in the harsh wind along with the American... If he _somehow accidentally_ manages to drop the weakened young nation into the ocean.

America dangles, flailing wildly and panicking, above the cold, icy, rushing waters. Every part of his body is alive and buzzing, though at the same time he feels as though he's shutting down. Soon, he finds he's going limp, and then he's just... Hanging, suspended by a hand on his collar. He's giving up. The stars are blurring his vision, and more blood is trickling from his mouth and nose, and the back of his head. He can't seem to move his hand and wipe it away... Every part of his body aches... There's no fight left in him. He can't even call out to England.

This was all his fault. If he had just stayed in the cabin like England said, none of this would be happening. Spain wouldn't have spotted him and decided to attack, England wouldn't have almost lost his life, America wouldn't be dangling off the edge of a giant ship, bloodied, bruised, and weak from Gilbert slamming him into the walls. None of this would be happening if he weren't so stupid all the time... England was surely hating him right now, this was a bad situation they were both in...

Meanwhile, England has just knocked the sword out Spain's hand, furious. Spain will never even come _close_ to America, ever again.

"America is _mine," _he hisses, slamming his foot down on Spain's head, "forever and ever. Me and only me will own him. He will never be in harms way by the likes of you, ever again."

Okay, so maybe that was a bit of a stretch. England would most definitely think of owning America, nor would America let himself be owned, but England had to say something to remind the Spanish conquistador that if he ever did something like that again, his head would be sliced off.

No, England was going to slice it off now, so he wouldn't have to worry about Spain trying to take his precious America away from him again.

Spain, though in great pain, smiles. "Check again." He chokes out, then lets his head fall limply against the wet, wooden floor.

England's emerald eyes scan the deck, and then widen. There hangs America, over the edge of the deck, suspended by his collar over the cold, unmerciful, and deep ocean. And he's dripping blood. England gasps, running forward, occasionally slicing someone's arm or leg with his sword if they get in his way. Nothing could him from his America... But there go his plans of beheading Spain.

He stops in front of Gilbert, his eyes filled with hatred for the man in front of him, his sword raised.

"Let. Him. Go." He demands, his eyes flickering to the American worriedly.

His heart seemingly cracks in half, for America is crying, his tears falling down into the salty ocean.

"How _dare_ you?" England yells loudly, slicing Gilbert's arm with his sword without a second thought.

Gilbert grins, and England knows what's going to happen. He plunges his sword into Gilbert, just as Gilbert's grip on the American's collar slips. Gilbert falls, and so does America. England, his heart beating extremely fast, grabs a rope and jumps over the side of the ship, his nose now filled with the smell of blood.

Relief floods through him when he grips the younger boy's wrist, right before he hit the crashing waves. America, sniffling, holds England's wrist with a shaking hand, sadness and anticipation cooling him to very core. How mad was England going to be when they got back onto the ship? Probably he'd hate America forever... England's crew quickly pull them back up to the deck of the ship.

Immediately, England is puling Alfred into a bone-crushing embrace. "_Alfred_." He says, his body trembling now, too. "Alfred, I'm so sorry... Please, forgive me... I love you so much... More than my own life..." He says, hurriedly pulling off his coat, instead wrapping it around the teenager.

"Don't apologize... It's me who should be sorry..." America says weakly, letting himself dissolve into the embrace, much to England's delight, "I'm sorry for leaving my cabin, England... I should have listened to you, and I didn't, and now this happened! And it was probably annoying for you to come out her to get me—"

"It was anything but annoying! I was so worried I practically sliced my hand off, I was shaking so badly." England admits, gripping America even tighter than before, "Don't you dare ever think you're an annoyance to me. You're the most wonderful, smart, amazing, pure thing I've ever had in my entire life."

And it was true. America was like a gift from the gods, and England would cherish everything about the boy, even if he pretended to be angry or annoyed. America was a ray of sunshine in his dark world, always smiling that knee-weakening smile, the one he unknowingly used against England... Always, his blue eyes glittered in such a hypnotizing manner, England falls deeper into his America-induced trance every time he looks into them. He was pure and innocent, having never hurt even an insect, and having never been kissed. England, however, was having quite the hard time as of late, to keep America that way... Even so, he knew he wouldn't do it. He wouldn't be able to; for America was his everything. He was not the scary king of the waves when he was with Alfred, he was a fool in love, who would follow the young boy's every wish without question.

"Please, please, promise me you will never leave my side again." England says shakily. It was a cruel, selfish demand, he knew, and he knew America would say yes unquestioningly, but he couldn't help himself. If he ever lost America again, he didn't know what he'd do.

"I promise you, England." America says back, "I wouldn't dream of leaving you in a million years. I'm sorry I left you today, though... I really tried to fight, but Spain is too strong..."

"Did he hurt you?" England asks, suddenly snapping out of a reverie.

"Not really..." America says, his eyes downcast.

"Did he try anything with you?" England asks again.

America hesitates before answering, "No."

"You're lying." England says, "I can tell."

"I-It doesn't matter, really..."

"Yes, it does, America! I don't want anybody touching you, ever! You—You're much too pure for that sort of thing! And... And... I just... You mean the world to me, lad..." England blushes slightly, "I don't want anything to happen to you... I couldn't live with myself if you got hurt... Or lost that light you always seem to have..."

"E-England..."

"So please, tell me what happened."

"Nothing, really... Just... Uh... Well... I was... Pinned down..."

England, practically fuming from the ears, stands up, then grabs America's hand and hoists him up, too.

"You do realize you're going to have to stay at home from now on." England says.

"Oh..." America says, "Will you be there a lot?" Alfred asks hopefully, staring up into England's eyes.

England feels himself growing nervous. Stay in London and live with Alfred, (guaranteed that he'll fall in love even more) or continue to sail the open seas as a pirate (a chance that he'll forget his feelings for the boy.)

"Well..." The Brit looks up into America's eyes and suddenly feels all the courage he had built up to tell the younger man he wanted to stay on the open seas vanishes, suddenly replaced by the overwhelming urge to tell America he would never leave his side again. "I..."

America looks disappointed. So England wouldn't be staying with him? Maybe... Maybe England really didn't like him. Maybe he thought America was annoying, and only said all those things to keep Alfred happy, so he would continue being a colony of England's...

England takes one look at America's face and wisp of an idea that he should continue being a pirate is whisked away. England suddenly realizes just how much he wants this boy to be happy. So much he would sacrifice all of the excitement in his life to come and live a normal life with America.

"America, of course I'll stay." He says, taking his hat off and throwing it into the ocean.

Immediately, America lets out a whoop of joy, taking England's hand in his. "Yay!"

And England knows he's made the right choice in staying with America.

* * *

Translations:

Mi ducle: My sweet

Maldición: Damn it.


End file.
